Get Jobs
by wsmffc
Summary: The Administrator informs everyone to get temporary jobs when RED and BLU go bankrupt while she sorts things out. Hilarity and a 1,000,000 plus deaths ensue. M to be safe.


**Get Jobs**

"Um? Could ya repeat that?" Scout said.

"Yes. You are all fired. Or rather, laid off," the Announcer told them.

"Is-is this a joke or something?"

"I'm afraid not."

"How will we manage without job?" Heavy asked.

"I believe you should get new jobs. It should not be too hard for people like you."

"Lady! This is war! The only thing I know and I love it! And I know one doesn't just stop a war for lack of mon-!" Soldier was interrupted by the Announcer snapping that "You should all get your positions back soon as we can afford it again. If all goes right that should be as soon as the government processes our bankrupty and hands us a bailout. For now, here are some suggestions for what you should all take." She handed them each a stack of papers to get them started.

"It would not hurt, however, to try working somewhere else for a limited time. After all, you cannot all stay here forever."

* * *

Scout sighed to himself. In the majority of his short life so far, this killling and those men were all he had known. They were all big brothers to him, even when they killed him. He liked Heavy too, no matter how much he always tried to display his hatred and macho attitude to the world.

"But this won't be so bad, right?" he reassured himself. "After all, it should be over soon. And besides, for a guy like me, I won't have any trouble at all at this."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm the baddest, toughest, and fastest team member. Besides, now I can finally pursue my career in baseball."

Scout felt he would fit right into the Yankees, his favorite team. So he went straight to Ralph Houk, the team's manager. He knocked tentatively on the door to the apartment. It swung open and the man asked, "What the hell are you here for? You the milkman or something?"

"I wanna join your baseball team." A few seconds passed.

"Ha! What makes you think you got what it takes?"

Scout handed him a card from the forms the Announcer had given him. He looked it over for a few moments, then said, "Well, we'll just see about that. You come to the stadium tomorrow, I'll bring the rest of the boys, and you better be worth it." He tossed the paper aside.

The next day Scout had drunk a ton of Bonk! and Crit-a-Cola beforehand. He had cleared his mind, and felt ready. Still, he actually felt somewhat nervous though, despite the obstacles not having any chance of killing him anymore. He walked by, being greeted by big wig players like Mickey Mantle. They all watched over him, examined him closely. Someone called out that "this is him?"

Scout stiffened. He'd show them all. He walked up to the plate and took out his Sandman. The pitcher chewed tobacco silently, then spit it out. "Okay, let's get this over with then."

"Yo! Throw it to me, pally!"

Scout tensed as the ball approached, and he swung. It connected smooth. "Boom! Outta the park! I make it look easy." His cocksure confidence was back.

All the others gaped at that, then another player spoke up. "Big deal, beginner's luck. Let's see you do it again."

Scout did. And again. And again. And again. And again.

"Alright, so we're convinced. Now let's see how you run though."

"Sure pal. Be sure not to blink, or you'll miss it."

Scout hit the ball and broke foward at a brisk pace. He was zipped through the entire field at an impossible speed.

"I don't frickin believe it..."

The rest of the men cheered. "With him there's no chance we can lose! It's as if all he knows is baseball and breathing."

"What's your name boy?"

"Huh? What..."

"Um, Scout?"

"No... your name boy." Some of the men whispered that for "such a fast boy he sure is slow."

"The third base?"

"Stop joking boy, come on."

"Ummm..."

Scout went berserk as something took over him as he felt he couldn't handle the situation anymore. The merc instincts kicked in and he batted a ball straight into the closest man's face, and ran around in circles. "ENJOY SOME BALLS! OH! THERE'S A SKULL FRACTURE FOR SURE! BAM! HOME RUN!" He began chucking them at an insane speed.

"Run! He's going crazy!"

"I knew something had to wrong with this kid!"

He sprinted up to the nearest man, batted him down and taunted. "BOINK!"

Another man running in the other direction was caught and he slammed his face into the ground and slapped his backside in front of him.

"Get the bats! We can't outrun this kid."

The men all grabbed their bats and swung at him. He jumped over and thwacked number 23 in the back.

"Did he just JUMP TWICE!?"

"What the hell! I'm getting out of here!"

No one would escape though. The next match, if that would come, every single one of the Yankees would be mysteriously debilitated with various broken bones, pints of blood lost, and concussions. The story they told was blatant nonsense, but would become legend after a boy matching the description was matched as the same culprit for a series of large bank robberies back in the 30s.

* * *

Meanwhile, Soldier pulled up in a van with another man in scary looking gear.

"Don't you think you should be wearing something to protect yourself from all the chems and shit?" Frankie asked. "I know the rules might be lax but that's really pushing it... Jane..."

Frankie thought it was ridiculous that such a huge, imposing old man was named Jane. And that he seemed to be delusional make believe soldier. So he wore a battered helmet and what he assumed were novelty grenades.

"NO NEED TO WORRY BROTHERS. I AM COMPLETELY IMPERVIOUS TO PAIN. IT IS THE MAGGOT SCUM THAT WILL FEEL IT."

"Okay, suit yourself then."

"NO, I JUST SAID I AM NOT SUITING UP."

Jane must of had hearing problems too, because he shouted everything. He smashed his fist against the door, equally as loud.

"Jeez, what the hell? Ah, at least you're the exterminators. Come inside." The man that answered looked to be in his 30s, and was a thin, beanpole thing with a boyish face.

"AFFIRMATIVE CITIZEN. SHOW US TO THE SITUATION."

"It's down in the basement. Just do your job."

"STAND ASIDE THEN. WE ARE DEPLOYING." Soldier stomped into the house and into the basemen before Frankie even had time to bring the gear in.

"Okay then... you get started..."

"DO NOT WORRY. I HAVE ALL THE EQUIPMENT NECESSARY."

Soldier stepped into the basement, and the scent of old mold and dampness hit him immediately.

"MAGGOTS. I SHOULD OF KNOWN." Soldier pulled out his Shovel, dug a hefty load, and smashed it.

Upstairs the other two men heard it and winced. Frankie quickly ran down to meet him.

"Lord in heaven! Just what the hell are you doing?!"

"I'M KILLING THE MAGGOTS THE OLD FASHIONED WAY. YOU HAVE AN OBJECTON? WHAT ARE YOU, SOFT ON MAGGOTS?"

"No, this just doesn't seem like the way!"

"MAGGOT SYMPATHEZIER! COPPERHEAD! COME HERE, YOU COMMUNIST! Frankie was beginning to wonder if those were really novelty grenades.

"PUT 'EM UP!" He charged. "FOR AMERICA!"

The client heard some commotion, and the exterminator with all the gear ran out. He turned toward the other man, who had a shovel in hand and was chasing him.

"HE WAS A COMMUNIST. BELIEVE ME."

"Um..."

The remaining man then helped himself to his stove, and began frying some dead vermin on a cast iron pan he'd brought.

He inched over to go call the police. Luckily, the man didn't seem to notice and soon returned to his work carrying what appeared to be a long steel tub-.

Oh no. It had to be a bazooka. Before he could react, the house collapsed.

The cops would arrive in a few minutes to a demolished landscape, albeit one free of pests. They managed to catch a glimpse of the maniac fleeing by shooting himself with _ROCKETS._

* * *

A masked man was the latest addition to the fire fighting force. Apparently they would take anything now. Or maybe this would be a good choice. After all, if he was so cautious as to always have his equipment on, he must be truly dedicated to the job. But when it came time to eat, he had to take if off, right? Jim decided to answer all his questions and start by greeting him.

"Hey! How's it going, bud?"

The mask turned slowly toward him, as if trying to comprehend what he was saying. He, or it, breathed loudly and then said something in a muffled voice.

"Um, what? What was that? It may be easy if you take off the mask."

It turned back defensively, as if he had just lashed out at it.

"Um... okay. Really ready all the time. I... admire that. But we probably won't have a job for a bit."

Then the bells and klaxons rang just then, to prove him wrong. Everyone frantically got up and ran toward their places. Well, at least he seemed competent so far.

They drove down to place, the burning remenants of a block. They'd been called down by the police.

"Whoa! What the hell happened here?!" asked the Chief.

A lieutenant answered saying, "Well, I wasn't here for it, but apparently some old man was off his rocker _and blew the house up. _Not sure what to say."

The Chief shook his head, and muttered "what is the world coming to?" Everyone was standing around, and he then shouted to them all to get a move on.

Jim decided he should help the new guy through. First day on the job and this. He found him and made his way over. The new guy clapped and stared. The fire licked brightly and reflected in his mask's eye holes. Jim was about to say some helpful advice but then before anything could be done it just ran straight into the fire. He took out an axe and cut the door down and entered and exited quickly, emerging with a thin and haggard man who was currently unconscious. Everyone congraluated for his heroism for a moment, not objecting to his breaking of protocol but prepared to douse the fire all the while.

But then some strange thing crossed the mask.

"Hey... you okay?"

It pointed, in a strange way, at the fire hose.

"Yeah... we're preparing to put it out. It's our job."

"NOH!" it articulated very clearly. As the water began, it suddenly jumped into the path of it. "WHAT THE HELL," several of the men shouted at once.

They were even more confused and surprised when the water was blasted back to them through some sort of contraption of a nozzle attached to a jury rigged propane tank. At this point Jim decided to scat, real fast like.

It sprayed over and knocked several men down with enough force to shatter bones and dispatched them. The police took notice to this, and pulled their weapons and took cover. The fire teams all fled.

"What're you doin', pal!" the lieutenant said. "Have you lost it?"

"Now, just hold still and calm down. You're a hero. Why are you doing this?"

The fire lover answered by running toward them and letting a blast of fire burn into the first squad car.

"SHOOT TO KILL. AND GET US SOME GODDAMN BACKUP."

Bullets pinged off his suit and he advanced toward the second squad car. Several men ran in terror. "I didn't sign up for this, goddamnit! Call the fuckin' army!"

"Stay here, you fuckin' cowards! Get back her-" the lieutenant was cut off as the fire starter shot a flare right into his face. His screamed and burned. The rest of everyone bolted.

Pyro skipped off, happily. Another tiring day of spreading joy and happiness, though to new friends. And they didn't seem to understand not to extinguish the rainbows. No matter. They'd all learn. Still, he wanted the old crew back. There was something special about them, as they were always back and ready to play. The others quizzically remained in place and turned to small piles of dust.

The police reinforcements would arrive to the scene later, and add that the blotter, which was beginning to fill with mad rampages.

* * *

Demoman sighed. He had gotten just the job what he wanted. Though a lot of people had rejected him for his skin color, now they apparently weren't going to judge as a major fire was breaking out in the suburban areas of New York City. His knowledge of explosives would prove useful in deploying in fire breaks and such. So the fire Chief directed him toward the nearest area and told him to knock a few things to down and stop the spread of the flames.

"Alright, let's do this!" he shouted as he charged out into the street at a blinding speed. He meant the rest of the demolitions crew outside and they nodded silently to him. They motioned for him to get into the 4x4 and they went on their way. They stopped two blocks down.

"Okay, so standard stuff. We need a controlled demolition on those buildings over there and there to block its approach. Examine the structures closely and-"

"Hey! What're you doing!?"

The black man had taken out an improvised explosive device of some sort he had brought along with him somehow and tossed it toward the nearest building.

"AH'm drunk!"

The building came down with a resounding thud.

"Wait... that was actually good... It didn't kill us all. Keep it up." They flew through their work at a hectic pace, due to the Demoman's genius. But then... after an hour...

"Hey... what's the matter? Why'd you stop your magic?"

He pointed at his comical bottle with an XXX etched across it.

"Ah'm all out of magiceh."

"Well, all the better, right?"

"No, AH need _MORE._"

"Well, we can't all have it right?"

The rest of the team was preparing to demolish a bar off to the left. The big black man drew a GODDAMN SWORD and pointed in a menacing manner at them.

"Ah of you stop that, RIGHT NOW."

Everyone stopped what they were doing at once. "Whoa, man, cool down."

"Yeah, we're just doing our jobs."

They all quietly backed off and let the colored man into the bar. He began examining exotic liquors and taking as much as he could.

"I say we blow him sky high, right now."

"What? Are you insane? We aren't murderers!"

"Yeah, but he sorta threatening us with a GODDAMN SWORD. Plus, he's looting right now. By the looks of this disaster, the Army and Guard will be deployed soon to help maintain order, so he'd be arrested anyway."

"An' he's a Negro too, we could get away with it easily!"

"Maybe in the South, but we're in New York here! Snap out of it!"

But the other men had already made up their minds. He yelled to warn him, but then the boom came.

"No..."

"Alright! We got him! Better repor-"

Somehow, the one-eyed demolitions expert came out. And he looked _pissed._

_"Oh shit!_ Scatter!"

Demo loped off the first man's head with his long reaching sword. He got the second by smashing into him at a high speed with a SPIKE attached to A WOODEN SHIELD.

"No! Wait! I tried to stop them! -"

"There can be ONLY ONE!" he shouted before slicing the last one's head clean off.

A patrolling police helicopter taking note of the carnage saw the entire scene, and that was added to the list of deadly attacks this week so far.

* * *

Engineer had seen the carnage. Less than a week back into the real world and it already seriously required his skills. He had banked on started a construction company, but now he decided to go out personally to fixing things. The destructive fire, which some had taken to calling it the Great New York Fire of 1963, had seen millions of dollars gone up in the blaze. He would help rebuild it.

He had shown his 11 certified PhDs to the special administriation board, the NYC Rebuilding Council, and got to work right away. He had been granted whatever he would need. He drove his work truck down to the nearest place damaged to start, and began unloading gear. He looked over his crew which was assigned to him, and hollered to them to get started.

"Y'all just take those pieces and set 'em down over there. I'll hammer the load together."

They worked furiously and fastly, and had it all together in a flash. Now they wanted to see how he would do it.

Joe, the first one, said, "How do you reckon he'll put it together?"

Tim asked, completely unrelated "Do you really think he has 11 PhDs?"

They all began to mutter and speculate amongst themselves.

Dell set the steel beams in place, and began hitting them with a wrench. He also had a Dispenser set up to provide extra metal to fabricate additional parts. Without noticing, however, he accidentally had left the blueprints for Sentry to go. So he built a Sentry absentmindedly. And the rest of the men weren't wearing red.

Some had begun to doubt what he was doing, hitting objects with a wrench to percussively build it, but all illusions evaporated when the thing he built killed the nearest man. So no, it wasn't a nail gun or anything.

"What the hell?"

"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES."

"Wait, sorry about that!" Engineer disabled the Sentry and blew it up.

Rob, the man who was shot, was bleeding out on the ground. With his last words, he told them to "give it to the bastard."

"Um... what're y'all doin'?" The men pulled a tire iron, a wooden plank, and other makeshift weapons out.

"You killed him." There was no emotion in the voice, and the man spoke for all.

"Look, I don't wanna hurt y'all..."

They all began advancing on the professor, who then decided it was best to just get blood on his hands rather than blood on theirs. The closest man swung at him with a bat, and Engineer blocked it with his Gunslinger hand.

He returned the favor by picking up his shotgun and giving the off balance attacker a face full of lead. All those years of fighting hadn't left the Engineer, even if he rarely had to get down and dirty. He was rather good at close combat now due to frequent swings with the Spy.

He dropped his shotgun when someone else hit him with a club to his right. Sloppy. The man retreated after that, with caution.

Another man, this time with a 2x4, attempted to bash Engineer's head in from behind to follow up. He emulated the move Soldier had pulled in that movie that Director had made for him and smashed the man's face in.

There were four others left, and they surrounded the Engineer and circled around, preparing to pounce. The biggest man left, to his right, used a tire iron but Engineer dodged it handily and returned the favor with a solid uppercut. Another man used the opportunity to attempt to seize the shotgun which lay on the ground. Engineer slammed into him as he did this and crushed his skull with a resounding thud with his heavy boots. Out of the last two, the armed one tried to slash him with a knife, which Engineer caught nimbly and broke with his Gunslinger's death grip.

The last man attempted to run, but Engineer pulled out his Pistol, aimed carefully, and discharged a bullet.

"Bull's eye," he noted as blew the smoke from his gun.

* * *

Heavy got a job hauling port supplies. It was either that or he could be a damn good cop. He had heard of crazy American hard hat who recently kill many worker helping, but Heavy had no fear. City was full of many police now though. Like Russia.

He picked up load after load, and brought them out. Eventually lunch time came. It make Heavy very, very happy! He opened his lunch box and ate while looking wistfully at Sasha.

Several men sallied their way over, a few laughing and roughhousing.

The leader spoke up. "Hey! You communist. What are you doing over here? I thought you guys were all about the workers and all. So why don't you come join them? Or you one of those appartachiks, too good for us, eh?"

It was quite clear they had been drinking. Heavy put away his Sandvich and the picture of Sasha. He stood stoically. The jeers continued for a bit, and then the man bumped right into him.

"Oop! Looks like you dropped your little lunch box. Wanna call mommy to clean it up?"

Another one of the men imitated what he thought would be Heavy's mother, insulting her fatness and such.

"Ohh... what's this? A picture, of your sweetheart perhaps? No, wait! It's a gun! How rich!"

Heavy was now visibly beginning to display anger. The runt of the group and the smartest too, spoke up. He knew Heavy must be the type that named their guns and were tough as nails.

"Uhh guys... I think we better stop... after all..."

"Stop, why? Why his mother even packed him a nice big lunch right here-!" As the man attempted to pick up Heavy's Sandvich, he was interrupted by the giant fists of the man.

"HNNNG!" The rest of the workers' gang backed up. "Come now," Heavy said as surveyed them all. "Let us fight, like MEN!"

The lead man got up, bloodied as two of the others helped him up. The runt tried to back out slowly but the others kept him there. They started inching toward the Heavy, but he told them to back off.

"He's mine."

The two brutes clashed, but it was over anticlimatically with a crit from Heavy.

"Now, any other coward want fight?" They scattered, and Heavy roared triumphantly.

But they ran from the fuzz descending on the scene. The cops surrounded Heavy before he knew it.

"Drop your, uh, fists... Um, put 'em up!" an officer yelled. Heavy jumped the nearest cop as the other one struggled to get that sentence out.

It was 20 feet or so to the sea. He nabbed the cop and used him as human shield as he sprinted over. A police man in full riot gear tried to stop him but Heavy used the hostage to bat him aside before tossing the body off and it impacted against another officer's shield. He took the officer's pistol while he was at it, though it was comically small for him.

He cannonballed right into the ocean and hijacked a conveniently placed jet ski as it was about to pass. The hapless pilot screamed as Heavy tossed him off. Heavy pushed the ski to full throttle, but the cops were close behind. It seemed there was an inexhaustible supply of police and every one in the Greater Manhattan area was onto him.

He had to stop soon. They were shooting to kill with an assortment of weapons that confirmed his belief that Americans were gun-crazy: submachine guns, pistols, shotguns, assault rifles, and even a few snipers. Luckily no one had even hit him so far, and he was getting close to his stash.

He neared the shore, then angled upwards and hit another conveniently placed object, this one being a ramp, and jetted up into the air. Heavy shot several police while in the air, and conducted a perfect three point landing with his feet spread apart, one hand on the ground and the other in the air, after he rolled in position too.

A brief pause followed, then he snapped his head up and the jet ski he had bailed out of EXPLODED behind him, also setting off the cop's pursuit boats.

But the long arm of the law was still catching up to him. Quickly, he ran into his stash: it was his living quarters, what most would consider a small tin shack, built on the somehow deserted beach which had conveniently (again) directed himself toward. He entered, and then the police cut off the compound. One brought forth a megaphone and began speaking to Heavy.

"We have you surrounded! Do not try anything stupid!"

"Come out with your hands up and we will give you a fair trial, unlike what your Communist scum back home would do!"

There was a palpable stillness for a few moments. Then Heavy broke it as he exited.

"HE'S GOT A GODDAMN MINIGUN!"

Everyone took cover as Heavy sprayed around, singing and shouting blissfully.

Once the smoke cleared, everyone was dead and Heavy was gone. The police blotter added another long list of murders in the past week, unusually high now even for a major city like New York.

And some people were starting to see the pattern.

* * *

Spy had signed up for the CIA. He met them in a small cafe requisitioned for the government. Their first assignment to him was to have him investigate the seemingly unrelated case of random killings throughout New York City.

A suited man flanked by some other men in dark suits gave him the assignment, their faces dark and blotted out. His voice was also disguised when he spoke. "Now, there has been a breakout of violent crimes in lower New York recently. This may just be a hunch, but I believe they are all connected in some manner. So these cases have now attracted federal attention, and we're sending you in. We know you're green but you have an impressive record working for France and these private corporations. Good luck, agent."

Spy knew just how to obtain some relevant information. This would be the easiest assignment he would have had in over 9,000 lives. He was to infilitrate his way into NYPD Central Command, which was currently a post office down in a burnt down district. It had been re-located after an unknown terrorist had blasted it yelling about Nazi Gestapo with rockets in rapid succession.

There were two officers dressed in full body armor and armed with assault rifles outside the entrance. Such lax security. He walked straight up to them and informed them he was CIA. They just looked at him and told him to get the hell back.

He did then, put then infilitrated behind them with his Invisible Watch. After decloaked, he pulled out his Eternal Award and rapidly disposed of one of the guards and replaced him.

After that, he pressed a button on his Watch to activate the generic alert of some sort. The other guard looked at him, and Spy said, now in the dead guard's voice, "Well, pardner, I go back to base."

"Hmph. Sucks. They're probably gonna chew you out." He then turned away.

"Yes, it is bad is it not?" Spy sauntered in and snorted his usual laugh that it had worked. Everyone was always so guillable. Before he entered he also made sure to place a sapper by the entrance.

He walked right in and found he did not know where to go. The offices, right? And the head officer's one. Had to be something useful. Okay, but he needed a diversion. He found the nearest fire alarm and triggered it. Enabling his Invisi Watch, this time on Cloak and Dagger mode, he waited tensely.

Someone almost bumped into him and several occasions so he had to maneuver carefully. After the office emptied he peered outside and then decloaked. Everyone was trying to filter out by the door while the lone guard was bewildered. General confusion reigned. He pushed another button his watch and the staff were electrocuted. He finished the remaining men with his Revolver.

He walked up the stairs to the top of the post office, searched around, and found the most important looking office. He took the police blotter out and started his way back to the CIA outpost.

When he got back, he told them everything that had happened and handed them the blotter.

Everyone simply stared at him in shock.

"Well, what do you think? Good work, perhaps?" Spy asked smoothly.

One of the CIA men spoke up.

"What the fuck? We don't pay you to go to the NYPD, kill everyone, and steal the police blotter. We could of just walked and requested a copy."

"You're joking, right?"

The men began to edge closer toward him.

"Yes... is big American joke. What you call it, sarcasm?"

Another one of the suit wearing man pulled up his sleeves, and shouted to the Spy.

"I have the mind to kill you right fucking now for what you've done against this country. Let's get him, boys!"

He lunged toward the Spy, but the Frenchman pulled his butterfly knife out with the flick of a finger and punctured his spine through his eye. Spy had examined the room well beforehand, just in case, and he moved right to the nearest wall and kicked a table down. Taking cover behind it, he began dealing drinks of hot, propelled lead to the CIA men. 6 men went down before one of them managed to make it to the emergency guns, broke the case up, and distributed the weapons. They similarly took cover behind tables and the firefight began.

Or so they thought. They poured on fire toward Spy's table to suppress him (and somehow didn't manage to break the thing, either), and began to inch themselves over, firing and advancing. No one noticed that Spy had cloaked and made his way out until it was too late. He had left and left a few packages as farewell gifts.

From a distance, Spy lit a cigarette and pressed a button on the lighter. The cafe exploded, and he took and long drag before flicking off the tobacco. Turning, he walked off into the distance as another series of explosions began from equipment stored by the CIA there.

* * *

Medic had no trouble getting a job after his return to the world. It seemed New York City was experiencing "chronic explosion syndrome" now. So everyday, he would receive medical patients and it was going quite easy. Half of them had lived due to his help!

Doing his work amputating the extremely burnt and damaged leg of a fire fighter, he heard a knock on the door. He "accidententally" then sliced off the leg all at once from surprise.

"AGGGH!" the man screamed.

"Oh, don't be such a baby now. Legs grow back." He then trained the Medigun toward the injured leg and threw the rusty saw off into a pile of dirty waste.

Outside, the cops knocked again. Jimbo, the first cop, felt somewhat apprehensive in light of recent events around the city. He had heard of some mad doctor here pulling out sorts of evil crap, and normally would of probably just dismissed it as rumor and it being just an unlicensed doctor... but who knew now.

A distinctly German looking man in white clothes stained red with _fresh _blood opened the door. A terrible smell hit the officers.

"Sir, we have a warrant to investigate your residency, which, in the extreme constraints of the time, has been granted medical use. It appears an unusually high rate of deaths-to-patients cured is present."

The doctor snatched up the warrant and examined it. "Okay, you may look in."

The officers entered and searched around. "Where is all the medicine practiced?"

They were directed into another room, and Mott, the second officer, screeched in pure terror.

All over the room were various piles of refuse, from jars of yellowish fluids to a puddle with some strange crosses floating above it. There were birds fluttering all around too. A fridge swung open and frozen human organs and all kinds of horrors were stored inside.

"Oh, my God..."

"Yes. I try my best, but sometime they die too."

Just at that moment, Medic noticed the Medigun was set to "life draining evil sinister" mode.

"Oh... oops." The fire fighter was slowly crumbling to dust and his skeletal structure was beginning to present itself. The closet door also came undone, revealing even more skeletons which fell out.

"Well I discovered my problem now... But, this looks bad, doesn't it?"

The two officers drew their guns. The one named Jimbo slammed Medic against the wall, and yelled "I should kill you right now!"

Mott, who was currently calling for backup but curiously getting no response, stopped that and held him back and restrained him. "Ah ha. The good cop bad cop huh?"

"How about dead cop dead cop!?" Medic stabbed Jimbo and went straight through, killing Mott as well. He flicked the Medigun switch but accidententally, again, turned on "life giving evil abomination that is a travesty against nature" mode fusing Mott, Jimbo, and many available skeletons into some shambling monster.

"Oh... Damn. Not again."

Medic bolted and called for his birds.

* * *

Sniper hadn't decided on doing anything yet. People knew of his immense abilities and reserved his service for $5,000 a day, so he really just sat around and saved a lot of Jarate for later. But when he saw on the news that the dead were rising, he felt now was as good of a time as any to go shooting things. As the zombies spread at an exponential rate, he had no shortage of targets. He sniped for about an hour for the pure enjoyment of it, but felt it was too easy. So he made a decision to become a _GODDAMN ZOMBIE HUNTER_. No, that's too easy.

"_I will be death incarnate," _Sniper thought. "All shall fear me."

After all, he was being paid $5,000 to do something, even if he didn't know what.

So he pulled on his sharpened his stakes, pulled on his Holy Hunter set, and climbed into his "camper van." Some survivors were battling zombies outside and he was going to make a grand entrance.

He busted out into the already zombie infested streets, running them down and gunning as many as he could with his submachine gun as he sped by. While he was at it he shot down the surviving men and women just for the fun of it, even as they gaped in amazement. He limberly stunt jumped onto the top of the RV, began shooting at the hundreds of zombies moving toward his car as the foward momentum continued, running over many before the sheer weight stopped, and shot as many as he could, dual wielding. Then he popped a motorcycle out of the RV's top compartment, sped down, crunched over the brittle bones of the undead, and killed as many as he could with a battleaxe as he throttled around.

He jumped off in the middle of the street, the bike went off and exploded, taking out a dozen zombies. He tossed the battleaxe and killed the closest zombie with it. There were still about 40 or so left. He pulled the triggers on his SMGs. They went empty. He drew the Shahanshah, kept a safe distance, and began cutting down the reanimated. The city burned around him, and Sniper was slashing corpses down. He laughed at the ludicrous situation. When the numbers had been whittled down to about 6 stragglers or so left, he heard a distant boom. It began to come closer, and it shook the ground. He killed the rest of the zombies and looked to see what the cause was.

A huge, deformed figure staggered over to him. It had 6 feet, though only 3 were on the ground. There were 15 limbs hanging off to the side. 4 twisted mouths dotted it, along with 7 eyes, with 2 zipping around. He threw the Shahanshah right into the form but nothing happened.

Sniper chuckled, "Ah ha. Blimey." It was only getting better. He ripped the spine out of the nearest corpse, that of a some tough looking biker's, (though admittedly less tough now that Sniper had put a bullet in his head) skull still attached, and swung it around a bit.

"Come on, then."

* * *

A week later, the Announcer called them back.

"Good news and bad news," she said.

"The good news is that I was able to convince the shadow government to give us a bailout, in lieu of you lot setting New York City on fire. They were terrified as to what would of happened had you stayed another week and likely wrecked Upstate. So that's that."

She took a drag on her smoke.

"The bad news is that, within two weeks' time, you all managed to do the following:"

She began reading from a laundry list of havoc they had wreaked.

"You all simultaneously managed to get the city's mafia and street gangs, the police and military, the National Guard and the CIA, and various other organizations out to kill you. You have all caused several million deaths, the nuking of lower New York, billion dollar damages. New York City burns as we speak, and marital law has been declared with public executions commonplace. Every single one of you is now public enemy #1, in every category, if that is even possible. Scout managed to even be mistaken for a 30s mobster back from the dead. I have to admit, this is rather impressive."

"Therefore, everyone must believe you are all dead. You shall never be in public again, and be must be extensive in faking your deaths. Good day."

After the Announcer left, the mercs began recounting their experiences to each other and laughing and all.

This was the only job for them all.

* * *

Note: sometimes the goddamn lines won't appear, why does do this =:(


End file.
